Metal Headboards and Crisp English
by HenrySugargotthereference
Summary: One-shots. Mostly OOC. Sometimes amusing. Sometimes sexy scandigayvians. You've been warned. \m/
1. Cock Fighting

Author's Note: I just recently culled a bunch of drabbles and I'm honestly torn about whether I'm going to take down this whole fic.

I do not own Dethklok or Toki or Skwisgaar or the whole Scooby Doo gang (if I did they would be locked up in my basement). Credit goes to Blacha and Small yada yada.

The italics indicate Swedish/Norwegian respectively where Skwisgaar and Toki's conversations are concerned.

"NOT BETA-ED," SHE SCREAMS AS YOU BEGIN TO READ.

\m/

Toki and Skwisgaar were two of the five richest people on the planet, they didn't have worries like regular jack-offs and despite this they managed to fight more than the vast majority of regular jack-offs. If it wasn't simply their conflicting natures causing problems it was proximity, and if it wasn't proximity it was boredom. Currently neither the grown man nor the man-child—it was debatable which of the guitarists were which—were willing to take the blame for the ear-splitting, hair-pulling, bloody, drag-out fight of the day before.

The drums, lead singer, and bass of Dethklok had been greatly entertained the previous day when they'd watched the screaming in unintelligible Norwegian and Swedish. Pickles, Murderface, and Nathan had witnessed the whole thing, alternatively betting immature dares and exotic treasures or egging the two on.

Murderface bet on Toki to reign superior because, as he informed them eyes shining, Toki had almost beaten a man to death. Pickles bet on Skwisgaar because he reasoned Toki wouldn't actually _kill_ the member of the band he cared the most about. Toki spent the most time with Skwisgaar (Pickles noticed things sometimes, he did). Nathan smugly bet on a tie because he thought Offdenson would break up the fight before there could be a winner, emphasizing how the robot always seemed to show up to be a killjoy.

During the fight Murderface had taken great pleasure in dropping little catalytic tidbits to rile Toki up whenever he began to lag. Well at least Murderface had thought Toki was lagging, he'd had had no clue what the two were saying. 'Remember the sholos he never gave you?' was a particularly good line Murderface used liberally.

Though it wasn't the main reason for their fight, Toki had agreed with Murderface on the solos.

_Twenty-four hours and change previous..._

"_I told you before and I'll tell you again, the second you actually start to practice I will give you a fucking solo!" _Skwisgaar's arms were in the air, he was waving them around but they weren't really punctuating his point, simply annoying Toki as much as they were distracting him.

_"I don't believe you!" _Toki had planted his feet like an irate three-year old, his arms crossed over his chest, ready to do battle.

Skwisgaar mad_e _a noise of exasperation in his throat_. "You'd know if the possibility of you putting in work was more likely than hell freezing over! It's the same with everything: whine, whine, whine, and never do a thing about it. Grow the fuck up Toki!" _At this point Skwisgaar knew he was winning the fight and he was maybe getting a little smug about it.

_"Me? ME? I should grow up?" _Toki was so angry he couldn't think and was now just sputtering back whatever Skwisgaar said. He took a second to breathe and think. He narrowed his eyes as he spat out the rejoiner, _"You're the one who won't let me tell anyone we're together!"_

_"'Skwisgaar, come look under my bed, get off that slut, there's something under my bed.' Remember that little Toki?" _Skwisgaar parodied, ignoring Toki's attempt to change the subject.

_"Don't call me that!" _Toki's arms uncrossed and clenched into fists at his sides.

_"What,_ little_ Toki? That's who you are, just a little fucking kid." _Skwisgaar was getting more cutting by the minute so very, very good at being cold.

_"Oh, so that's why you are so ashamed of me then! 'Tokis don't touch me we are in public'. What the fuck is your problem Skwisgaar?" _Toki was almost crying now, confused in his frustration and hurt.

"_The problem is I'M NOT FUCKING RIDICULOUS AND NEEDY AND IMMATURE LIKE YOU!" _The words burst out of Skwisgaar, harsher and much louder than he'd intended.

Toki covered his ears and shouted, fed up and emotional,_ "I hate you! I hate you! I HATE you!" _Then he fell to his knees and was silent, face buried in his arms, shoulders shaking.

Skwisgaar didn't know what to do. Had he won? He was still furious, it didn't just dissipate into nothingness because Toki freaked out and started crying like a child. Still, Skwisgaar managed to unbend enough to kneel down, stiff yet with righteous anger, to put a hand on Toki's shoulder.

"Tokis?" Skwisgaar was expecting to be rejected with a hearty yell, not the terrifying look of rage on Toki's blotchy face and the vicious punch to the jaw. Toki buried a hand in Skwisgaar hair tightly, immobilizing Skwisgaar and before Skwisgaar could duck landed another right hook.

Skwisgaar grabbed a chunk of chestnut hair for his own and pulled backwards viciously, not realizing he was yelling out a bloody murdering war cry into Toki's face. Skwisgaar and Toki grappled for a few moments, bruises forming on arms and stomachs, breathing hard until they got back to essentially the same place, hands tangled in long hair.

"_Who's ashamed now_?" Skwisgaar screamed and planted his lips so hard on Toki's their teeth cracked together. Skwisgaar's split lip made the moment taste of acrid iron and ire and in his fury Skwisgaar was enjoying the pain of it, the small release into passion. Toki tried to pull away, mumbling against Skwisgaar's lips, but the blond had a good grip on Toki's hair. Toki gave up and the tension left his entire body, shoulders falling. Toki took over then, pushing Skwisgaar down onto the floor. The kissing slowed into something less angry and more loving, but only slightly.

Toki lifted his mouth for a moment, "_The others?_"

Skwisgaar pulled him back down, mumbling, "_Who?"_

\m/

"So, who wins if, uh, _that_ happens?" Nathan's voice was quieter than usual, more like grains of sand rubbing together rather than gravel.

Pickles cleared his throat, "I guess dey do." It was possible half of his mouth quirked up in a smirk, yet more likely it was simply a rictus born of shock.

"Brutal." The only word to truly sum up the situation hung in the air, and without another word the three got up and left the room, seemingly disturbed. It only took another minute for a different sound to be heard out in the hallway, an ugly discordant sound, where before there had only been the hollow echo of boots on stone.

"GROSS! TITSH MOTHERFUCKING MCGEE! GUYSH, THEY'RE FUCKING _GAY!_ MY EYESH, MY VIRGSHIN EYESH! WHERESH THE BLEACSH? GET ME BLEACSH!"

Murderface's ranting continued a while in this vein until it cooled and Nathan's slurred voice could be heard, "I definitely won the bet, that's, uh, still a tie right? If they didn't kill each other?"

A heated debate over the rights to elephants and booze factories and slaving ships began and didn't end until Pickle's mentioned doing shots and throwing swords off the top of Mordhaus. The cycle of idiocy was ready to begin anew, Toki and Skwisgaar temporarily forgotten.

_Twenty-four hours and change later..._

"I did nots start dat fight, Skwisgaar." Toki let out a frustrated breath. Toki sometimes wondered why he put up with this dumb-butt.

"I begs to differ Tokis, I begs to differ." Skwisgaar was frowning very fiercely, lips pursed in a ridiculous moue.

Toki found the facial expression silly, and smiled on the inside, answering his own question. Outwardly straightfaced, Toki began to debate his innocence again.

The sounds of yelling soon followed, a very familiar sound in Mordhaus indeed.


	2. An Apple a Day Keeps Skwisgaar Away

"_Toki, ugh, get off me! You taste like an apple orchard_." Skwisgaar's stomach rolled, he was hung-over. "_Eugh,_" Skwisgaar groaned, managing to turn the sound into an ejaculation of disgust, _"and_ y_ou smell of one too_. S_top drinking cider first thing in the morning and get away from me_."

Toki had assaulted Skwisgaar the moment the man showed the first signs of stirring—a lengthy process that often involved a lot of lanky moving limbs—mounting a sneak attack to full Swedish lips. Usually waking by Toki's enthusiastic kiss wasn't a bad way for Skwisgaar to greet the afternoon but having woke up with a dagger pierced through the front of his skull left Skwisgaar less than charitable.

"Oh noes Skwisgaar, yous hungover! I knows 'cause yous speaking da propers homeland Swedish and you tastes like the wrong ends of de horse." Here Toki paused for a second, getting to his knees on the bed, "But I'll tak_t_es cares of you, you sicky babies what can't hold his liquor." Toki's overpowering exuberance was sometimes, well, _annoying as hell_ this early in the hungover-noon. Thankfully Toki jumped off the bed somewhat more quietly, presumably to go get something to make Skwisgaar 'feels better'.

Skwisgaar rolled over in the soft bed, thoroughly miserable, wrapping himself in the furs like a Scandanavian sausage. He couldn't even enjoy Toki's naked muscled body—okay maybe he could enjoy that firm ass, he only _felt _dead after all—as Toki went to fumble into a pair of cloud-covered pajama bottoms and ubiquitous blue t-shirt. Skwisgaar could hear Toki rustling around in the closet and opening and closing drawers.

Skwisgaar managed to mumble something out, in English this time, unsure if Toki had already left the room when the noise stopped, "No pickled herrings Tokis! Just gets me something for the pains or maybes an axe to ends it all."

"You gets what you gets Skwisgaar. What you reallys needs is da morning afters pills." Skwisgaar groaned—Toki's voice did not do anything for the pain behind his eyeballs—but then what Toki said registered in his fuzzy brain (it was so cottony in there he could open a sweat shop and make t-shirts, so it took a while).

Skwisgaar's voice was vehement with offense, even if it was mostly lost in the fur blanket: "I am nots a ladies Toki what needs a _mornings after pills!" _

"Whatsever, Skwisgaar yous knows what I mean." He really didn't but Skwisgaar make a sound of derision in his throat anyway and then proceeded to ignore Toki and try to fall asleep, venturing to fade the ache in his skull.

\m/

A cat. A fucking cat was currently walking across Skwisgaar's face.

Skwisgaar opened his eyes and promptly closed them again. Skwisgaar knew this cat, the weight of its evil little body and its tarnished orange fur, and so he stayed absolutely still not even daring to open his eyes again. Skwisgaar was barely breathing. He knew this spawn of Satan. If he moved one solitary muscle—if he dared to sneeze—he'd be seeing more than a little blood and have deep septic holes in his face for an entire week.

This one-eyed quadruped had claws it insisted on sharpening on everything (including Skwisgaar's guitars). This was a cat you didn't challenge by looking it in its one good eye, not even Murderface was stupid enough to do that on pain of pride.

Skwisgaar acknowledged defeat. The cat was plain mean as hell to anyone but Toki. This cat taunted the feral yard wolves then beat them handily if they tried anything.

Deceptively soft paws batted at Skwisgaar's patrician cheekbones. Skwisgaar could almost see the expression of boredom on that cat face, even with his eyes closed, a look Skwisgaar was very much familiar with as he wore it often himself.

Skwisgaar felt sharp claws rake at his hair and his sphincter tensed.

The paw currently resting on Skwisgaar's forehead lifted up and found its way to where it was least welcome, a pair of full lips. Skwisgaar did not want to know what this cat had been doing or where it had been before it began traipsing all over his face and sticking furry paws in his mouth, daring to do it when Skwisgaar was hung-over and basically dying. Skwisgaar would take claw marks and puncture wounds but not a litter box paw to the mouth.

Skwisgaar opened his eyes—squinting in the light, why did he have such a white room?— to see the cat with a paw still resting lazily on his sculpted lips, one yellow eye looking straight into Skwisgaar's two blue, generally giving zero fucks.

Skwisgaar reached up with one arm, red with thin little healing lines of previous battles, and grabbed the cat by the scruff of its neck. The cat was aware of what was going to happen, and claws dug painfully into Skwisgaar's chest and neck, one caught on Skwisgaar's full bottom lip, digging deep. _Jävel!_

The weight went flying off Skwisgaar's chest with an irate, "MRRROW!"

\m/

Toki was walking back to the bedroom, sandwich half in and half out of his mouth. In his other hand he was carrying a vanilla cupcake piled high with black icing, decorated with the Dethklok logo; he was going to force Skwisgaar to eat it so that he (with his stupid dildos diabetes) could taste the forbidden sugar on Skwisgaar's tongue. Thoughts of that and other misadventures the two could get caught up in—_maybes they could builds a planes_ _today_—were pleasantly running through Toki's mind until he heard an angry bellow. The shout rang out from down the hall, it was livid and all too familiar.

Toki paused for half a moment with the ham, cheese, bread and various condiments in his molars still half chewed, brain catching up to just what that shout meant. _Dritt!_ Skwisgaar didn't have occasion to yell at Toki much anymore except for one reason, one small, furry, little, ten-pound reason. Toki broke into a desperate sprint, sandwich falling to the floor but delicious cupcake safe and clenched securely in his hand, blue t-shirt whipping about till it clung to the muscles of his upper torso, bearing the deep cut lines of his abdomen. His boots thumped heavily on the stone floor, echoing in the stone hallway as he raced to the stark white bedroom.

It was Dave Mustaine again; it was always Dave Mustaine these days.

\m/"

"Did you hear that?" Nathan had been lounging in the hot tub with Pickles and Murderface, generally on his way to getting rip-roaring drunk.

The walls of Mordhaus sometimes carried sounds eerily and Nathan could've sworn he heard the cry of an injured animal or something.

"I'm not shure what that wash, maybe Charlesh had to put shome poor bashtard down." Murderface looked downright gleeful at the thought and the knife he was using to carve into the cement surrounding the hot pool of water stilled.

"Ahh you guys er both wrong, if I'm naht mistaken dat was the mating call of ah moose."

"Why do you even know that?" Nathan took Pickle's claim as is, not unreasonable after the twenty-fourth beer of the day.

"Don't ahsk Nathan, dahn't tell." Pickles was noodled out, both arms caressing the side of the hot tub, basically relaxed into a stupor (which meant any combination of drugs were sluggishly making their way out of his pores and his liver was screaming silently).

"This isn't the fuckin' army." Nathan was beyond curious now.

"Ah but you still don't whanna know though. It'll fester in yur brain forever if ya do."

"Good song title, 'festering in your brain forever'." Nathan's curiosity abated with a distraction thought and the conversation ended for the moment.

\m/

"I think Dave Mustaine can smell my fear Tokis." Skwisgaar's eyes were wide, recounting the story of his traumatizing cat attack later to an amused Norwegian.

Toki pursed his lips, as if thinking the matter over, "Ja, well he is Vikings cat. I expect nothings less from guard cat of Odin."

"It doesn't have to guard you from me Tokis! I'm goings to kills dat things if its be clawrings me anymores." Skwisgaar was outraged, it didn't help his mood that his stomach still felt as if he'd been seesawing nastily on a long-ship for hours and his bottom lip was swollen like he'd gotten some bottom of the barrel, black market botox.

Toki shook his head at Skwisgaar.

"Oh noes, he wasn't doings that. He likes you, that's ams what makes him claws at yous guitar and yous ugly pales body." Skwisgaar cocked an eyebrow, very skeptical (his body was a beautiful work of art and that cat hated him), but Toki continued—eyes shiny—lost to his imagination: "He probably saws some trolls under da bed and was tryings to wakes you up to warns you!" As the sentence went on Toki got more and more excited, words rolling together, nearly out of breath from his 'discovery': "We's got the best cats ever Skwisgaar! Dave Mustaine warns us of da trolls!"

"Pfft. Trolls. Betters he warns us of the Dutch. And Tokis don't calls dat cat that, you dos knows just 'cause he's a gingers cat wit' no souls nots means it's not terriscbles you names him after another metal gingers."

"Don'ts care. Cat brutal enough to be in Megadeth. I's more concerned wit' yous faces, looks pretty metal with what the bloods and pus." The wounds on Skwisgaar's chest and neck were slowly seeping, he should probably clean them but he felt worse than he looked and didn't want to move.

"Don'ts feels metals Toki." If Skwisgaar could pout, this is the closest he'd ever been to it.

"Well whats if I kisses battle wound better?" Toki leaned in closer. They had both migrated back to the bed, the only real sitting surface in the room. Toki had been laying on his stomach, perched above Skwisgaar who was laying propped up on pillows like a victim in traction.

"Uh, maybes dat helps, but only if yous do it wells. Ams only goings to accept verys thoroughs job. Betters even if you apolosecs for getting dat dildos cat in the first place." Skwisgaar wasn't quite ready to reciprocate the advance, still miffed.

"Hows about just sexes? Or is dat tiny hungsover brain still not ups for it?" Toki taunted, then looked pointedly down at Skwisgaar's nether regions, "Or is the ot'er head nots ups for it?"

Skwisgaar just tackled Toki down onto the pale sheets in response. The meeting of hands and mouths and areas below the waist meant Skwisgaar (and Toki) were very much up for it.

AN: I am kind-of obsessed with Toki being able to have a cat (and for it to live) if it's a joint cat with Skwisgaar. The God of Life could keep that little fucker alive, right?

Thank you if you've managed to read this far. I really do appreciate it, I just wish I were a better writer! Cheers.


	3. Public Smut

AN: *clears throat* Just a warning, this is pure smutty escapism. Took this down for edits to remove some (but not all) liberties taken with reality. I don't like this edit as much as the original, I don't think it's as hot, but sometimes c'est la vie unfortunately.

Also thanks to YourRhineStoneEyes and SummerSkies2007 for commenting. Your thoughts were awesome and appreciated as ever.

All my drabbles remain un-beta-ed. (As if you didn't know).

\m/

The club was packed and depravity abounded; _nasty sex_ might as well have been the name of the place. Dethklok had found their way to a fairly scuzzy hole in the wall in the nearest community to Mordhaus.

Toki was drunk off his ass, Skwisgaar nearly more so. Currently the two men were rolling hips like they had been stuck at sea for months—on separate ships—and now that they were back together on land they were desperate to make up for lost time.

And they didn't care who was watching.

The two males had collapsed on the booth seat within their little alcove after standing proved too difficult. The edge of a table covered with ebony cloth blocked a lot of their bump, grind, and roll from the rest of the club. It was still pretty obvious what the two men were doing however—even if their moaning was lost in some thumping bass beat neither of the men enjoyed—because two sets of black-as-night leather boots were sticking off the end of the bench. And those boots sure as hell weren't staying still.

Mouths had fused and shirts were pushed up or off, Skwisgaar's landing somewhere behind Toki's brawny shoulders, shoulders Skwisgaar had pinned to the seat with excess drunken force.

Around the table had gathered numerous female and a few male Dethklok fans, all trying to stay in the shadows but watching with hungry eyes. The news of Dethklok appearing at a sleazy club had spread like wildfire; this bit of info on the two guitarists and the entertainment they were providing was more than the fans had expected however. Soon enough there would be Dethklok devotees bold enough to watch the pair openly, but for the moment they hung back and drooled, lust pumping through their veins in time with the heavy bass beat.

"Skwisgaar!" The word held the tang of high-end Scotch whiskey as the blond man's hand disappeared beneath thick and dark cotton pants. Toki's eyes popped open to get a nice view of the ceiling and the handsome flushed face and plump lips of the man above him right before Skwisgaar bent down to bite and lick the tiny round disks of Toki's nipples, white teeth flashing. Ahhh. The minute pain was enough to wake Toki up from the pleasure haze caused by a hand on his cock.

"Wheres in da hells are we...?" Skwisgaar cut Toki off with talented lips and Toki was moaning, Skwisgaar doing that thing with his ton...mmm.

Skwisgaar replied in harsh Swedish, and damn if that didn't make Toki's cock pulse. "_Don't fucking care. Lift your hips_."

Toki did what was ordered, a bottle or two of expensive whiskey from any inhibitions or any ability to fight to get on top. Toki's pants were wrenched down just enough for Skwisgaar to palm Toki's erection properly. At the friction, Toki's hips rolled. Mouths and limbs were sloppy and uncoordinated drunk but Skwisgaar's hands remained talented and rock steady as ever, muscle memory doing wonders as he pumped and released with every thrust.

Panting from the audience all around them was lost to the music but Toki's heavy breathing rose above it.

"_Fuck. Skwisgaar. Make it hurt._" Alcohol had numbed a lot of Toki's nerves but Skwisgaar was not small and Toki knew the man was going to cause stabbing pain without fresh lube. Toki had been prepped earlier in the day (for a very satisfying morning session that just thinking about had more blood pooling in Toki's groin) but it was wishful thinking how much of that loosening or smooth glide remained.

Toki didn't give a flying fuck, his thoughts were hazy and far away, lost in a puddle of alcohol. He had more pressing concerns. Like getting Skwisgaar naked.

Toki's hot hands undid the button and zipper of Skwisgaar's dark jeans, stilling any of Skwisgaar's protests, and burning palms moved down to grip the pale hips and ass as Toki pushed the fabric down slooowly. Skwisgaar freed his erection and Toki kept gripping that ass tight in his palms.

Skwisgaar was insolently and deliberately stroking himself, eyes raking down Toki's impressive body. Toki was lost in pure sensory pleasure at that sizzling gaze.

"_Do it. I need the hurt._" Toki repeated, breathing hard, and if that didn't make Skwisgaar's balls ache, nothing could.

A thought came to Skwisgaar like a relay baton and he ran with it. Putting hands and mouth on all that hard body was no trouble at all...

Skwisgaar leaned close and gave a final lick to Toki's bruised lips before meandering down to Toki's erection, hands causing bliss wherever they went. Toki braced himself, palms on lean shoulders, and clamped his mouth shut. Skwisgaar swallowed Toki slowly and cleanly like the pro he was, and Toki tried but couldn't restrain a shout. Thank fuck Skwisgaar liked to do things well and here he _excelled._

Toki saw pretty white stars. Skwisgaar knew just the right amount of suction and it was everything, the fingers burrowing into his thighs and the tongue that knew the Nord too well—Toki was going mad. The wavy blond hair that bobbed and swayed was just fucking perfect clenched in Toki's fists as a mouth made drugging pulls on his cock.

The pleasure broke when a flicking tongue caressed just right, it hit its peak and pressure pushed its way from Toki's balls to the tip of his cock in a searing ecstatic rush. Skwisgaar pulled off and capped the head of Toki's jerking erection with his palm while Toki went deaf and blind.

Then Skwisgaar was all business, the intensity on his face as he used Toki's essence to coat his cock and two fingers to pry open Toki's entrance was exquisite. Toki's ears were still ringing from his release but he couldn't help looking. The rest of the world past what Skwisgaar was doing was spinning.

Toki needed an anchor and he was going to get one.

Skwisgaar was met with resistance as he guided his cock and pressed against that tight entrance. The joy-pain of Toki's moan made him continue, rubbing and teasing a little. Then Toki reached up one hand to tweak Skwisgaar's nipple and there was no stopping. The pressure felt like it was going to bend Skwisgaar's cock in half before he managed to push inside and he hissed. But then, Gods, the heat of it as the head of his cock was engulfed, the picture he made as he pushed his way inside...

Toki was nearly too tight, much tighter than when properly prepped. The sensation without enough lube was slightly less pleasant when every movement dragged on the skin of his cock, but he got over it quickly with the sounds Toki was making and that fiery heat...and the leaking pre come from his cock. And _fucking hell, _Toki clenched down on him tighter. Every sensation turned into delicious friction.

The thumping beat pushed at them, making them feral. Skwisgaar glanced up to see the spectators. The eyes on them gave Skwisgaar a tingle in his spine. Let them watch.

_He's mine. _

Skwisgaar increased the pressure against Toki's tight entrance, meeting eyes around the room. But the pleasure below his hips brought him back to Toki because _fuck_. The man was the best vise. Still Skwisgaar could feel the knowing eyes, and forbidden pleasure pumped blood exactly where it was needed.

Toki was lost, wasn't even making anything close to words as Skwisgaar slid deep, aaaall the way. Yes. Toki was palming his cock, pulling and stroking till he had the beginnings of an erection, recovery time almost non-existent. As Skwisgaar's hips began their rhythm, the pain made Toki yelp, yet he still pulled Skwisgaar closer with his free hand because there was pleasure somewhere in the invasion too.

Toki moved his other palm down to grip Skwisgaar's ass and kneaded that muscled skin as it bunched and released. Toki wanted to be filled as deep as possible, gluttonous for punishment and pleasure this night. He pulled the man tighter with every thrust, wanting _harder,_ to be lost, still cushioned by a layer of intoxication.

Skwisgaar lay down on Toki's chest, upper torso still, just his hips undulating. And damn if Skwisgaar's lean stomach didn't feel like heaven on Toki's erection. The man's voice started whispering dirty nothings in Toki's ear with hot tequila breath and Toki's cock jerked, once, twice. Skwisgaar nipped and sucked on Toki's neck, his ears, and all Toki knew was pleasure and agony and sizzling exhalations on his skin.

"_Toki, fuck! I'm gonna lose it. You need to cum."_ Skwisgaar's words pierced into Toki's consciousness, and the man got busy pumping Toki's cock, smoothing pre come along the wide head. The sight of straining abs below that flushed organ had Skwisgaar's cock desperate.

Toki was so close with a long fingered hand holding him just right, his cock became a throbbing wound.

Skwisgaar finally hit that perfect spot inside Toki and Toki did a single sharp jerk, mewling.

The sting of what they were doing as well as that hit to his prostate formed a pinnacle of ecstasy. Toki was coming fast and first, trying not to scream. Skwisgaar's mouth caught Toki's cries as his hand caught part of the male's release.

When sharp teeth clinched on Skwisgaar's shoulder it was over for the Swede. One more solid slapping thrust and Skwisgaar's body was shaking, warmth filling Toki below.

Fuuuuuck.

Toki released Skwisgaar's shoulder to find pillowy lips and swallow a vibrating moan. Toki clamped down tight on Skwisgaar's heavy cock, holding him inside.

The two males had folded on each other, exhausted, and when Skwisgaar pulled out Toki nearly died, endorphins and adrenaline gone. The bulky retreating length was a harsh scraping pain.

Toki invented a new language of Norwegian and English combined. Fucking. Ouch.

Skwisgaar looked down and the sight was enough to sober him up. That was definitely Toki's blood wrapping around his cock like a brand. Shit. Skwisgaar glanced up to see Toki giving him a wry smile and gave a wan smile back.

The audience around the pair picked their jaws up off the floor and moved away. The scent of cheap perfume, sweat, and lust cloaked the hovel. The fans were all ready to give any man, even a woman, _anyone_ the time of their life. It would've been a good time for Murderface to be around but he was outside puking. Ah, missed opportunities...

AN: Forgive my overabundance of author's notes, the word fuck, and my raping of ellipsis marks. Cheers.


	4. Edelweiss and Alcohol

The world lived at their feet. The masses screamed their names. They were gods.

Not so much when they were all vomiting. But whatever.

Pickles had invested in a large bottle of top-tier champagne, the "Ace of Spades" at 45 kilograms and a cool 200k. Seemed a Pickles drink, champagne, but he recruited the rest of the band and they were only too happy to drink. The bottle was large enough that it was almost as tall as the redhead, and was from the waist up on Skwisgaar and Nathan. It was dipped metallic and as soon as Pickles saw that with his own eyes, if he could possibly fall farther in love with a giant bottle of booze, he had.

Now Dethklok were having the most expensive puke they'd ever had in their lives.

But let's rewind shall we?

The night began innocuously enough. They'd all been in the hot tub. Toki was wheedling Skwisgaar who was valiantly pretending he was only interested in his guitar, but trying not to smile, warmth in his stomach. Pickles was as drugged as ever and Murderface was talking on the phone to...someone (perhaps no one). Nathan was silent and stoic as usual, mostly because he was just on that side of too drunk to function. Eh, fairly boring.

But then a Klokateer showed up wheeling a dolly holding a crate with the word FRAGILE printed on the side in bold red letters. The Klokateer was a beefy man and his voice was equally deep when he announced from behind his black hood, "Master Pickles, the package you ordered."

Pickles lifted a heavy head from the edge of the tub, dreads dripping. "Da fack? I dahn't 'member ordering nuttin' chief. Might as well open it though." The lifetime of a memory for any member of the band was about three minutes before it was obliterated. They paid their CFO to remember shit for them.

The Gear did as ordered. Somehow the crate was opened without incident, boards and nails coming loose with warning creaks and groans. When the bottle was lowered to the floor (with significant effort), there was the pry bar reclining there like an insolent slug. The accident didn't happen in slow motion like all those work-place safety commercials, the screen didn't black out letting you fill in the "oh shit" yourself, nope; the piece of heavy metal (ignoring the rules of force, work, and other physics) went flying up when its corner was caught by the massive bottle and slid right through the neck of the Klokateer like his skin had a homing device.

But the bottle was okay.

No member of Dethklok even blinked. Really there was no blood to be seen, the stainless steel went right through the Klokateer's windpipe and lodged there; it wasn't as if any member of the band knew how to do a tracheotomy so there was no point getting out of the tub. The guy just jerked a few times, writhed a bit on the floor and then went still behind his black hood. No air? No problem.

"Wowee!" In one excited word Toki summed up the scene and the perfect callousness of the band.

"Ahh doods." Pickles voice held a whine, his eyeballs rolled to the bottle so very very far away, but no other part of him moved. It was an insurmountable distance for a limp body.

"It's so fahr awaaaaaaay!"

During Pickles complaining, Dave Mustaine (Toki's one-eyed cat and probable minion of Satan) padded into the room on silent paws, went up to the head of the Hood and batted at it a few times. It might have been a trick of the light or something more sinister but the one slit of an eye seemed to flash in that triangle face. Perhaps the ginger _Felis_ took the souls of the dead, perhaps not, the cat however did belong to the God of Death and was comfortable with the ending of life. The menace jumped up on the still warm body of the Hood and promptly fell asleep, curled on the quiet chest, purring.

"Toki." To the youngest member of the band Pickles turned his attention, knowing only Toki or Nathan were strong enough to move the bottle and Nathan, well, was more lazy than Toki and less easily persuaded.

"Kid ya should just go over t'ere, roll me that bottle an we can ahll have ah drink."

"Aww Pickle I just gots comfortable." Toki had threaded an arm around Skwisgaar's waist and the man had slowly let Toki move closer, lip curled the whole time. The restless energy Toki had had, had been expended when he saw the Gear killed, just enough mayhem to satisfy Toki for the moment. Sometimes violence riled Toki up and sometimes it held just enough interest for him to calm down, boredom forgotten. Plus the tinny sound of Skwisgaar's fingers on the unplugged guitar frets were starting to lull Toki to sleep; Toki heard the soft clinking often when Skwisgaar stayed up late. Toki's head had been slowly drooping, ready to rest on the blonde's shoulder.

"Nat'n yous dos it. Yous stronger." Toki tried passing the activity off, fairly unsuccessfully. Skwisgaar hoped Nathan would take up the offer but simply gave Nathan an impartial glance rather than a loaded one. Skwisgaar liked Toki right where he was but wasn't willing to say or do anything to give that impression.

"That's uh. No. No I'm not gonna do it. Too much effort." The ends of Nathan's hair flipped and flicked in the bubbling water.

Murderface provided the solution, pulling his face away from the phone into which he'd been gabbing. "Ah you guysh couldn't funcshion without me. I'll jusht text Charlesh," Murderface grunted, smug. "And boom problemsh sholved."

There was a wait in which Pickles and the bottle had a few intimate moments together, Pickles making love to it with his eyes and the bottle reciprocating with the sheen off its shiny surface, beads of condensation rolling down its curves.

Four Klokateers entered the room, two to move the body—who were hissed at by the cat and sustained a few injuries—and another two to heft the bottle. A sigh of satisfaction left Pickles, finally to be united with the object of his affection.

The bottle was popped without embellishment by a Hood, save the cork hitting the man straight in the eye. The injured Klokateer just set the bottle down, bowed respectfully and left, the cork still lodged in his eye socket, blood seeping around it. None of the band were paying attention to the Klokateer and even Mustaine just yawned. The foam geyser-ing out of the bottle to a great height, now that was an interesting sight, the carbon dioxide escaping in a mass of bubbles. Pickles nearly came from the image of that alone, and Toki's eyes had popped wide.

"Don't say it." Skwisgaar looked pointedly at Toki and the 'wowee' died in his throat.

Another Klokateer came to replace the injured and the two Gear's, the old and the new, hoisted the bottle onto their shoulders, pouring the champagne into flutes.

Toki whispered something into Skwisgaar's neck about the raptured expression on Pickle's face and the tall man let out a snort.

_A few fancy-shmancy drinks later..._

The band traveled the length of Mordhaus drunk on champagne like debutantes, chaos in their wake. It was classic black-and-white comedy. Dethklok running in and out of rooms with the two Klokateer's running after them holding the giant bottle of booze.

So many bubbles. So very many bubbles.

Toki particularly liked the sensation, different than the heaviness beer left on his tongue. He may have drank a bit too much...since he ended up giggling and hugging Skwigaar and unable to stop. The other man was like a pissed off cat that had its fur rubbed the wrong way—hard. Skwisgaar was not impressed. Drunken groping aside, the blond knew Toki would be passed out soon and nothing would come of the contact. Skwisgaar liked his evening sex, needed it to be honest. So that might be why he consented to do something extremely stupid. That and intoxication.

"I's gonna strip Skwisgaar!" The Norwegian was completely blitzed, endearing though he was. No protest was made by the other man, save pulling Toki out of the room, taking a stumbling hand and leading the bumbling puppy to a snow-coloured bedroom.

"Skwisgaar I needs you to finds me somes strippings music. And a poles!"

So that was why, nearing a half hour later, Skwisgaar was lost somewhere in Mordhaus, holding a banana hammock and a tape of Cher's greatest hits (because who the hell had Cher on anything other than tape?). It really was unfortunate he hadn't been able to find anything else but you got what you got at eight in the morning.

What Skwisgaar _really_ shouldn't have done was follow the androgynous scantily clad individuals wearing black leather spike heels. He'd _thought _they'd be heading back to the main room where presumably the rest of Dethklok lounged but no. They led him to the stuff of nightmares. It really was unfortunate Skwisgaar lost all his sense of direction when under the influence or he'd have turned right the hell around.

He'd never be able to look at Charles the same way again. Seriously when the man let loose, he really let loose. Who knew, who wanted to know, Charles liked showtunes and bondage and reptiles...together?

\m/

It was with shaking palms that Skwisgaar made his way through the halls of Mordhaus after backing out of the disturbing room, beyond traumatized, banana hammock still clenched in his hand, wondering at intervals if he were to just get drunk enough if those images could be lost forever. Skwisgaar could take a lot but it was...Charles and...

_The Sound of Music..._

_Cockroaches...rocking horses..._

When Skwisgaar finally found Toki, he was splayed out on the fur covered bed, one arm half in half out of his t-shirt. Skwisgaar just dove onto the bed, letting the Cher tape and questionable underthings settle out on the floor, grabbing Toki around the waist and holding on tight. Thank fuck he got Toki's brand of weirdness. Skwisgaar shuddered and clung around Toki tighter, molding himself around the taut muscles.

\m/

The next afternoon every member of the band had the special blend of sickness that accompanies champagne hangovers. It was unfortunate they had a meeting that day at all and borderline a miracle that they all somehow managed to drag themselves out of bed to attend it—three hours late of course. Each member of Dethklok around the table had been set up with brushed tin pails right next to their seats and Dunkin Hills coffee steaming in front of their faces.

Only Charles seemed chipper when he entered the room. Eerily so. Everyone wondered why Skwisgaar let out a yelp, missing the wink the beautiful blond had gotten from behind metal rimmed glasses.

Skwisgaar started the round of vomiting expensive champagne leftovers into conveniently placed receptacles.

AN: Credit to SummerSkies2007 for the fitting idea that Toki's ginger cat eats the souls of Klokateers. Thanks!

Also no disrespect to Cher or _The Sound of Music_. Like I mean fucking Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer and Nazis? Can't go wrong.

Charles...yeah who knows. I just like making him do the unexpected because he's so uptight and controlled. I am however not opposed to him being closer to canon personality-wise and do pair him with a few members of the band on and off.

Also this was not meant to kink-shame in any way.

Cheers.


	5. Flick My Bic

AN: Not a happy one this, just a warning. It's also pretty much the most overdone thing I've ever written (and that's saying something) but whatever.

* * *

Toki's eyes scrape down the figures pushed up against the wall. Toki can hear the rhythmic grunting all the way across the room, although the distance is negligible, he might as well be a third body joining the melee. The sight of sweat repulses him, but the look of satisfaction on each face repulses him more. He feels as if he's just been slapped with an oak two by four, and his tongue actually moves against his molars checking for cracks and loose teeth.

Skwisgaar is as magnificent as ever and it makes Toki want to howl, to let something wild and vengeful free. But he's rooted here, knees locked tight, not sure if he has bones anymore or if he's just an empty hollow of skin hardened into the shape of a man.

Betrayal. Hurt. So much fucking hurt Toki would prefer it if someone had taken a chainsaw to his legs. The silver scars on his back ache dully. Only this morning the faded rips had been stroked tenderly by the elegant hand so lecherously gripping at that...that faceless nothing. One person had been able to touch his skin without Toki wanting to shudder, _one person,_ and that man-whore is pinning a disgusting non-entity to the wall with those very same spider-quick fingers.

There's not a care, not a speck of guilt in sight, as Skwisgaar thrusts deeper within the unremarkable body of a whore.

Toki wonders if that will change when Skwisgaar catches sight of him and finds he doesn't much want to know.

Somehow Toki had not seen this giant fuck you coming. He'd taken Skwisgaar at his word, which is clearly weaker than whisper-thin curls of bark fallen from a silver birch.

Toki's eyes skip right over the woman and focus on Skwisgaar's face, his features hold the same expression Toki has seen hundreds of times from above and below. Toki hadn't gotten anything special. Toki got the leavings of Skwisgaar like every other common fuck, making Toki about as remarkable as a used condom.

Toki wants to leave the room but his muscles have locked tight. His jaw cracks.

A riptide pulls Toki under so quick there's no preparing for it when the whore and Skwisgaar's lips meet. As Toki flounders under the sharp wave of pain, Skwisgaar's head moves, whipping hair out of his sweating face in a curtain of shiny strands. Toki knows the second Skwisgaar catches sight of him rooted there, flotsam, because pistoning hips falter and still. Yet Toki can still hear the disgusting slapping of rutting violating the inside of his skull. Skwisgaar pushes the woman away and she falls, off-balance, to the floor. It doesn't matter. The damage has been done.

"Tokis!" Shock made of syllables, the extra 's' at least three levels of hell too far.

_You fucking cock-sucking betrayer!_ Toki hisses back. Out loud? In his thoughts?

Their eyes snag and Toki's mercury set watch as Skwisgaar looks away. Too bad the colour can't poison like the element.

They kissed.

Toki needs to get away, he can leave, his legs _can_ move. He knows this. What's that keening noise? Yard wolves? He vaguely thinks Skwisgaar is saying something but it's lost in that horrible noise.

Toki turns from Skwisgaar. He doesn't want to even think his name anymore and so it scratches like a record and repeats over and over again. Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar.

Toki breathes in once deeply, holds it inside—the pressure the only thing keeping him upright—and comes to a decision. There's no reason to wait, no reason for thinking. Toki looks at his right hand, opens it and closes it a few times, noticing how the tendons and joints move. There is a simple beauty in the motion and bitterness bites him right in the gaping hole under his ribs. He curls the fingers in close, forming an imperfect fist, one where the thumb rests inside.

Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar.

That. Kiss.

Toki's right hand splits the air, mechanical and disassociated, to punch the cement wall; he feels no impact, not even the reverberation. Toki's thumb dislocates, bones crack and fracture into tiny pieces and he feels them inside the skin; skin that is useless now but as a distorted bag to hold filaments of bone. Toki's vaguely aware he's screaming like the house is on fire, but it's his sanity that is burning into crisp whirls of smoke, not Mordhaus. It's a nice thought however, these walls once again being consumed in flames, perhaps not to be rebuilt. Toki could start the 'haus on fire this instant with zero regret. Should he? To see _his _bed consumed—that revolting den of sin that played at being pristine, angelic-white—it might bring some gratification.

Toki looks down at the mangled mess of his swollen knuckles and fingers. _This_ is good. So clean, so precise, yet so messy. Useless as a guitarist now, he'll be able to leave with no fuss at all, like a shiny ribbon cut with the sharpest of scissors. Snip. His distended and purpling hand becomes what he feels inside, and it's starting to pulse; shock no longer holds him in a numbing embrace. He takes to his heels, not looking back even as he hears the blubbering of that faceless woman and shouting behind him. He will never be able to look on, Toki swallows, Skwisgaar again else he'll kill him, this is an absolute fact. Toki has never and will never love lightly.

Toki paws at a pocket and thinks how fortunate it is he lit up with Pickle today. The lighter is cheap, made of black plastic, but the flame catches with a satisfying snick.


	6. Cyclical

Toki blinked slowly, eyes dry and burning. Expensive drunk.

He remembered every slash, every burning-crisp feeling of snapping leather.

"This is to bring you closer to God!" The words were harsh and cracking, voice ruined by disuse. Sobs were sown into his chest and to let them out was to prolong the pain.

Time had warped into itself and he was stuck there. Ten years old and a burden. His father a looming scythe, cut in black. Sin was the crack of a whip and the bible imprinted on his cheek.

Toki flashed back into twenty-five, swaying on his feet, not much of a relief. He vomited onto the white tiles of a bathroom, everything swaying, so sick he thought it would be a better to die instead of regurgitating his insides. He closed his eyes and woke to find someone holding his hair back as he worshiped a porcelain god.

This was punishment for his sins.

\m/

It was his mother's hair he was holding. It was soft, the colour was all wrong, but it didn't matter. Skwisgaar was ten years old and frightened, not understanding the implications of what he was doing because it was all he'd ever known.

He'd loved her once. The scent of her perfume a balm, hands on his arms as he went to sleep. Folding laundry and stacking it onto his bed in little piles that were so very crisp and perfect. He liked the square edges, smelling of the breeze when she hung clothes on the line in the summer, miniature snapshots of outside.

It was the decline of age that got her. The decline of attention, then it was the wrong attention. Everything fed her, the failure of aging, the success of men in her bed. It was escape. It was control.

And now Skwisgaar understood it all. He looked at it in Toki, in Pickles, in Nathan, and he admitted, in himself. Failure, but beautiful escape nonetheless.

For they wrote songs to her.

Alcohol.

They wrote laments of her.

Alcohol.

They fucked themselves into forgetting in her.

Alcohol.

They should hate her for the beautiful whore she was.

\m/

_The next morning..._

"Hey Tokis." Bleary eyes met bleary eyes.

"Hey Skwisgaar."

"Wants a drink?" A trembling hand reached out.

The glass bottle nestled between dry lips and then returned to the giver. Skwisgaar eyed the mouth around the screw-cap edges thinking a hard fuck just might be the thing to beat his mind clean.


End file.
